


Emerald Dreaming

by CrowningGlory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Child Neglect, Dreams, Dreamsharing, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jewelry, Meeting in dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9676748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowningGlory/pseuds/CrowningGlory
Summary: Darcy dreams of a golden city, with a giant, shining organ in the centre.  Sometimes the city is busy, filled with tall, lithe people who flow through it like water.  They walk in and out of the organ, and sometimes Darcy’s inside it too, wandering through its halls, trailing her fingers along the carvings in the walls.  Sometimes the dreams are deserted, the city is a ghost town.But always, always she feels eyes watching her, and sometimes she turns around fast enough to catch a glimpse of them.She keeps her eyes shut for a few seconds after she wakes, and the backs of her eyelids are green.





	1. Infant

**Author's Note:**

> So I love Loki/Darcy, and this idea just popped into my head one day and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. It's not finished, and I was originally planning on posting it as one long chapter, but it got really long and so I'm making it multi-chaptered instead. I may regret that decision.

The day Darcy Lewis is born, her mother bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

The doctors are worried about the baby’s breathing, and she is placed in the NICU.  Gerry Lewis stands, a silent statue at his daughter’s side.  He doesn’t look at his newborn.  His eyes fix on the doors of the room, as if he can see through them, through the walls and the equipment and the people to the OR where his wife fights for her life, while his daughter fights for hers.

Darcy wins.

Her mother loses.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Darcy is a happy baby, giggling and bouncing.  Her eyes, bright blue like her mothers, dance as they try in vain to follow every movement, every colour, every sound, hands reaching up to grab at falling leaves.  Always moving, never still.

Strangers stop in the street to coo over her.

“How old is she?” they ask, every time.

“Nine months,” he replies, every time.  As the weeks pass, the answering smiles turn to confused frowns.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Gerry gropes for a can in the fridge and turns around to see Darcy wobbling towards him.  He tilts his head to the side.  He’s pretty sure babies are supposed to crawl before they walk.  He tries to remember if he’s seen her standing up before.  He can’t.  He stops trying.

He steps around her and slouches back to his usual spot in front of the TV.

Darcy swivels unsteadily on her little feet and watches him go, eyes wide.  The blue is darker now, the light already fading.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

By the time Darcy is three, she hasn’t smiled in a year.

When her father takes her shopping, she stays in the pushchair.   It’s much bigger than she is.  Harder to forget.  Less likely to be left behind.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

There’s a jet-black bird with a curved beak hopping from foot to foot on the windowsill.  Darcy stares at it, standing on the chair she pushed flush to the window with all of her four-year-old strength.  She wants to ask her father what kind of bird it is, if she can feed it some of the bread from the kitchen counter.  It’s mouldy, so they can’t eat it, but it’s ok for animals, right?  She doesn’t know.

She wants to ask.

Last time she talked to him, he didn’t seem to hear her.  She called out to him, louder and louder, but he never looked at her.  That’s when the fear rose – maybe he had gone deaf.  Maybe _she_ wasn’t making any sound _._   Panicking, she grabbed his trouser leg and pulled.

The bird caws.  Darcy clenches her small fist, remembering the sting of skin on skin.

She keeps her hands by her sides now, makes herself as small as possible.


	2. Schooldays

Darcy hates school.

Most of the other kids seem to know the alphabet already.  She’s never even heard of it.

It’s noisy on the playground, and it hurts her ears.  The other kids laugh and run and push, and she stumbles away, unused to the volume, so unlike the weighty, empty silence of her house.

She runs round the back of one of the classrooms, out of sight of the supervising teachers.  She’s not supposed to be there, but she doesn’t care.

“Shh!”

Darcy looks down.  One of the girls from her class – Tessa, she thinks her name is – is already there, stretched out on her stomach in the long grass.  Tessa looks Darcy up and down, apparently sizing her up, then beckons to her.  Confused, Darcy lowers herself so she’s lying on her front alongside her.  Tessa puts a finger to Darcy’s lips, and Darcy almost flinches at the contact.  Then the girl points the same finger in front of them, and Darcy draws in a breath.

There, a few inches in front of their faces, is the largest butterfly Darcy’s ever seen.  It’s perched on a dandelion, lazily flicking its wings from time to time, and it’s a vivid orange.

The girls are silent for several long moments, and it’s a new kind of silent, a kind Darcy never knew existed: charged, energised.  Then Tessa shifts and slowly, ever so slowly, extends her arm towards the butterfly, palm up.  Darcy holds her breath as Tessa keeps her hand steady and then, miraculously, the butterfly hops on to Tessa’s fingertips.  Tessa turns shining, excited eyes on Darcy, and lets out a soft giggle.

For the first time in years, Darcy smiles.

They lie in the shade of the classroom for what feels like hours, but can only be minutes, and then Tessa jerks her head at Darcy meaningfully.  Tentatively, Darcy lays her hand out next to Tessa’s, and Tessa tips her palm lightly to encourage the butterfly towards Darcy.  It creeps closer, so close Darcy can feel feather-light phantom legs tickling across her fingers, its tiny life vibrating through her palm, but at the last moment, the butterfly changes its mind and takes flight.

Darcy feels a bitter wave of disappointment, but Tessa lets out a pealing laugh and rolls onto her back, peering up to watch their little friend fly away.  Darcy hesitates only a moment, and follows suit.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Their first meeting sets the tone for the next few years of their friendship.  Tessa has a way with animals that Darcy can never hope to imitate.  She scoops ladybirds from their leaves and holds her hand out to stray cats, and they come to her every time.  And every time, she pulls Darcy closer and tries to get her to hold, or to stroke; every time, the ladybird flies away, the cat hisses and arches its back.

“It’s because you’re scared,” Tessa tells her when they’re eight, rubbing the ears of a tabby.

Darcy grins.  “Nah.  You’ve got the magic touch, is all.”  She keeps her tone light, hopes Tessa will laugh and let it go.

But her friend narrows her eyes, and that hope vanishes.  “Animals are very sensitive, you know.  Auntie Paula says they pick up on fear, it makes them uncomfortable.” Her voice is hard and clear as polished steel, but the kitten in her arms doesn’t stop purring.  Tessa’s doe eyes are deceptive.  Underneath, she’s all unyielding metal, sharp edges, bright surfaces.  “You’re scared they’ll bite you.  You’re scared they’ll run away.  Right?”

Darcy doesn’t say anything.  She’s never been able to lie to Tessa, anyway.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_Darcy dreams of a golden city, with a giant, shining organ in the centre.  Sometimes the city is busy, filled with tall, lithe people who flow through it like water.  They walk in and out of the organ, and sometimes Darcy’s inside it too, wandering through its halls, trailing her fingers along the carvings in the walls.  Sometimes the dreams are deserted, the city is a ghost town._

_But always, always she feels eyes watching her, and sometimes she turns around fast enough to catch a glimpse of them._

She keeps her eyes shut for a few seconds after she wakes, and the backs of her eyelids are green.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

“I wonder if it exists.”

“The dream city?”

“Yeah.”

Tessa pauses.  “How can you tell the difference between Dreams, capital D, and just normal dreams?”

“Umm…” Darcy purses her lips in thought.  Tessa waits patiently, doesn’t push.  She never pushes.  “Normal dreams are hazy, like, you wake up and you think, what did I just dream?  These are crystal clear, HD, surround sound.  And they’re always of the same place.  Same city of gold, same marble corridors, same gigantic organ.”

Darcy stops, thinking she’s finished, but Tessa doesn’t reply.  There something else, something more Darcy wants to say, she just doesn’t know it yet.  Tessa always knows, always waits.  Even if it takes an hour, she won’t speak again until Darcy’s figured it out and said her piece.

Darcy loves those silences.

Sometimes, even when her thought is on the tip of her tongue, practically begging to be spoken out loud, she’ll swallow it down, drag the moment out a few minutes more, just to savour the feeling of someone watching, waiting, listening.

Tessa’s the only one who ever listens.

She always knows, though, and her eyes, usually bambi-soft, take on that no-nonsense, steely glint, and Darcy cracks.

This time, it takes only ten minutes for Darcy to figure out what she wants to add.

“I think I’ve always had these dreams.  But it’s hard to tell, of course, ‘cause, I mean, who remembers when they were two?”

“I do.”  Tessa laughs at Darcy’s incredulous look.  “Don’t look so surprised!  Mom and Dad gave me Sparkles for my second birthday, remember?  I think of that day every time I look at him.”

“And every time you have to explain to someone why the world’s largest Irish Wolfhound is called Spark- _ow!_ ”

“Speaking of birthdays,” Tessa continues as though she hasn’t just pulled Darcy’s braid, _hard_ , “Yours is next week.  Ten!  The big one-oh!  Double figures!  Isn't it exciting?”  She’s trying, bless her, but they both know Darcy’s birthdays are anything but exciting.  She gives up and squeezes Darcy’s hand.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_Darcy’s four years old again, standing on the chair pushed up against the living room window, entranced by the bird with the black feathers.  The bird bores into her with sharp, intelligent eyes, and pecks at the window latch.  Without thinking, Darcy reaches up and pushes at it with clumsy, chubby fingers.  The bird caws its approval and hops to the ground outside.  It watches her from an ornate garden with lush green grass and gently tinkling fountains._

_Darcy looks behind her at the dark living room, with its raggedy couch, worn where her father always sits, the photo of the brunette woman above the cold fireplace, the discarded bottles and cans.  She looks at the garden outside the window, warm and bright and inviting and familiar._

_She climbs out the window._

_She tumbles to the ground and stands quickly, not wanting to get grass stains on her beautiful long gown.  Not that they would probably show up anyway, green on green._

_Walking past the fountain, she stops only briefly to admire the statues in the centre.  Three women stand back to back, heads bowed and cloaked, threads caught in their hands and held almost taught between them.  The marble is white, so bright it hurts, but the women still seem shrouded in darkness.  Around them, the water swirls, suspended in the air by nothing, and spirals down into the pool at the women’s feet._

_She comes to a small, clear pond under a tree that bears fruit she would think were apples, except, like so much else in these dreams of hers, they are golden.  The pond’s water is still and she kneels on the stones at its edge.  On the opposite side, the bird still watches her.  It dips its beak towards the water and she looks down.  For a moment she sees only herself, exactly as she usually is, but with her hair held back in golden combs and clothed in a glittering emerald gown that flows as gently and fluidly as the water that is omnipresent in this garden._

_Then her reflection disappears, and she is lost in a sea of new images._

_Tessa, her face stained with tears and her hand outstretched towards Darcy like she’s one of her stray cats._

_Her father, passed out on the floor, curled around a bottle._

_An unfamiliar woman with brown hair, eager eyes, jaw determined, a flash of multi-coloured, spinning lights, burn marks on sand, a crackle of electricity, screams, and flames, flames everywhere, burning hotter and hotter, the smoke choking her and –_

_A cool breeze wafts through the garden, rustling the leaves of the trees and bringing the sweet scent of honeysuckle to replace the acrid smoke.  It feels like something is crushing her skull.  Breathing hard, she tears her eyes from the water and glares at the raven, who stares back impassively, head cocked to the side._

_“What –”_

_She can’t manage any more as her throat closes up again and she chokes on any words she might have said._

_“It is a raven.”  The voice behind her is cool and deep.  It belongs in the ocean, not in this tiny garden of shallow pools.  She’s never heard it before, but she knows it.  Leaning back on her heels, back straight, she closes her eyes, not wanting to turn around just yet.  She knows what she will see when she does, and it is a moment she wants to savour.  But her heart beats faster and faster, and she is on her feet and twirling in one jerky movement, her gown and hair whipping around her._

_Green eyes meet hers._


	3. Questions

Darcy drags a brush through her curls and thinks enviously of Tessa’s hair.  It’s corn-yellow, and straight as a razor, the polar opposite of Darcy’s dark tangles.  Sometimes she thinks if she had been born with yellow hair like Tessa’s, like her father’s, if she had only looked more like Gerry Lewis than the blue-eyed brunette on the mantelpiece, maybe…

But she doesn’t.  She’s the spitting image of her mother, and her father’s eyes slide straight over her.  A deliberate move, a calculated defence against the onslaught of grief she sees grip him with uncontrollable ferocity every year, on the same day, the day she ages without the aid of cake, or candles, or colourful hats.

Tessa used to invite her to spend the day with her.  Darcy refused, every time, and eventually Tessa understood and stopped asking.  Any celebration felt empty, hollow, _wrong,_ when her father still couldn’t speak to her, couldn’t look at her.

His eyes pass over her and land on the liquor cabinet.  He cradles a bottle of whiskey instead of his daughter.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_“Who are you?”_

_His green eyes glitter with curiosity.  She shudders.  He looks at her like she’s a puzzle to solve, like he wants to tease all of her secrets from her, one by one, hold them up to the light, learn them.  Learn her._

_No one’s ever looked at her like that before._

_“For nigh on ten years I have wanted to ask_ you _that exact question,” he replies at last.  “Now at last I have my chance, and you have beaten me to it.”  There’s no accusation in his tone, just a wry twist to his mouth.  She can’t help but follow the line of his lips up to the sharp angles of his face, his high cheekbones, his silky black hair that curls at his collar.  He’s so tall it almost hurts her neck to look up at him._

_He’s beautiful._

_“Well?  Won’t you tell me your name, little mortal?”_

_“Darcy,” she tells him, and tries not to think how this is the first time since she met Tessa that someone has actually_ asked _her name.  “Darcy Lewis.”_

_“Loki Odinson, at your service,” he tells her, bowing low and reaching for her hand, a teasing smile in his smooth voice.  His movements are graceful, and she finds she cannot take her eyes off him._

_Apparently the feeling is mutual, since he continues to stare at her.  She’s unused to people looking at her – even when they do, she doesn’t think they really_ see _her – but it doesn’t make her nervous.  It makes her bold._

 _“Have you always been watching me?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.  His presence is one she has never_ not _known, and having him here in front of her feels like the final piece of a jigsaw slotting into place.  Right.  Complete._

 _“If, by ‘always’, you mean the entirety of your very short life, then yes, Darcy Lewis.  I have always been watching you.  You have haunted my dreams for the past decade.  It was impossible_ not _to watch you.”_

_“Dreams?  This really is a dream, then?  It’s not – it’s not real?”  Darcy can’t keep the bitter note of disappointment out of her question._

_“That depends entirely on your definition of real.  We are both asleep at this moment, but this courtyard that we stand in does indeed exist, deep in the heart of the palace of Asgard.  None but myself know of it, however.  And now you.”_

_“And you?” Darcy demands nervously.  “Are you real?”_

_“As real as you are.”  He smirks.  “The beautiful gown you wear, however, I have never seen before.  I believe it to be entirely a product of your own imagination, a reflection of some inner wish… a need for attention, perhaps?”_

_Darcy cannot keep the look of distress from crossing her face, and his expression softens into a sympathetic smile.  “Do not be alarmed, Darcy Lewis.  The desire to be noticed, to be acknowledged… It is one with which I am familiar.  You will find no judgement here, only understanding.”_

_Touched by his kindness, she relaxes.  “Darcy.  Just call me Darcy.”_

_They examine each other for a long moment in a comfortable silence that reminds Darcy of Tessa.  Perhaps Loki will be her second friend.  She’s about to ask him just that, when the bird caws behind her, apparently not happy at being forgotten.  She giggles._

_“And him?  The…raven?  Is he real?”_

_“Oh yes,” Loki chuckles, “That’s Muninn.  He, too, is quite the attention-seeker.”_

_His gentle teasing makes her flush with happiness._

_“He is a messenger,” Loki tells her.  “And a royal one at that.  Consider yourself honoured, Darcy.  Muninn has seen fit to bring you here.  There must be something he wanted you to see in the Well of Fate.”_

_“The…what?”_

_“The Well of Fate.”  He nods at the small pool behind her.  “Well, it is not the true Well – that one lies in Nornheim, with its caretakers, the Norns.”  He sees her baffled expression and sighs.  “The Norns are like the Greek Fates.  They control the destinies of gods and men alike.”_

_“Oh.  I guess I'm safe then.”_

_It’s Loki’s turn to look confused._

_Darcy gives him an impish grin.  “They can’t control_ my _destiny.  I'm a girl.”  She turns back to the pool with a haughty sniff.  “I always knew women were better than men.”  There’s silence behind her and she risks a glance over her shoulder.  Loki’s head is bowed, and his shoulders are shaking._

_Finally, he meets her gaze, and she can see suppressed amusement sparkling in his emerald eyes.  “Indeed, little mortal, you may be right.  I have often thought my mother to be worth a thousand of every other man in the palace.”  He joins her, standing in front of the water.  He is so very tall, and she is so very short.  Her head reaches just above his elbow.  A frown contorts his brow as he considers the implication of what she has said.  “You do not wish for the Norns to control your destiny?”_

_Darcy laughs.  It’s meant to be carefree, but it comes out bitter.  “I don’t really have much going for me.  I like to think at least I get to make my own choices.”  She cranes up at him.  “I read a lot.  Fantasy.  I love epic stories, and battles, and faraway lands, those are all cool.  A lot of those books talk about destiny, and I like the idea.  In fiction.  In reality… I don’t want anyone, least of all some being I’ve never met, deciding how my life’s gonna go.”_

_Loki smiles at her, and she almost melts, because she’s pretty sure that expression right there is called “fond”.  She’s seen it before, just never directed at her.  Except by Tessa.  Tessa is the exception to every rule._

_“I read a lot, too,” he says, and he seems to be about to say more, when something occurs to him and his eyebrows shoot up.  “I think I already know, but… exactly how old are you, Darcy?”_

_“Nine.  I’ll be ten in a few days.”_

_“Nine,” he mutters, almost to himself.  “So very young, even for a mortal.”  He kneels on the stones, just as she did before, looking into the pond.  “Everyone I have ever met has accepted the Norns as a part of life.  We are not taught to question their ultimate hold on our fate.”_

_Darcy doesn’t know what to say to that, so she kneels next to him and skims a hand along the surface of the pool.  It feels like any other water, but her fingers make no ripples.  “So… about this tiny, um… and kind of_ shallow _little pond, that you say is the Well of Fate, but not really…”_

_Loki catches her meaning.  “There are copies all over the Nine Realms, and all are connected through Yggdrasil to the original.  The Well shows us the past, present and future.  What did it show you?”_

_Darcy considers the swirling images, and just thinking about them makes her head hurt.  “I don’t know.  There were pictures, but…”_

_“They made no sense,” he finishes for her, and laughs at her surprise.  “That is perfectly normal.  This Well – and its sisters – show us many things, but they are rarely helpful.  Even if we can discern certain images clearly, we do not know what they mean.”_

_“Then why show us anything at all?”_

_“Truthfully, I haven't the slightest inkling.  Although,” his lips curl in mirth, “it is my personal belief that the Norns are easily bored, and like to toy with us lesser beings for their own amusement.”_

_It takes Darcy a moment to process that.  When she does – “So we’re confused, and they think it’s funny?”  Darcy folds her arms petulantly.  “Now I’m_ really _glad they don’t control_ my _destiny.”_

_This time, he doesn’t bother to contain his laughter._

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Tessa stares at her.

“Wow.  Just…wow.”

“I know.”

“Wow.”

“You said that already.”

“Give me a moment to think, Darce!  If this man, this place, really does exist somewhere, that would be…wow.  It would be wow.”

“You wanna find a new word, Tess?  You’re wearing that one out.”  Even as Darcy mocks her friend, she feels a rush of gratitude and affection.  Tessa never questions whether Darcy is telling the truth.  She has never dismissed her dreams as “just dreams”.  In Tessa’s mind, if Darcy thinks they’re something more, they’re something more.

Darcy heard Miss Jeffries talking to the Principal, once, about Tessa.  She called her an ‘old soul’.  Darcy had to look it up, but she thought it suited Tessa.

Tessa, however, has decided to take offence at Darcy’s teasing, and Darcy finds herself with a lap full of scrabbling, squirming…

“Tessa!  Is that a rat??”

Then again, maybe Tessa _is_ just like any other nine-year-old brat after all.  Darcy throws her hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender and leans away from the furry rodent, which is now giving her the stink eye, unappreciative of her squealing.

“Yup!”

“Where did you find this one?  Actually… no, I don’t even wanna know.  Just get it off me!”

“Hmmm.  I’ll think about it.  Are you sorry for insulting my vocabulary?”

“ _Tessa!_ Animals _don’t like me!_   I know this thing would never hurt you, but it might bite _me._ ”  Then she has a flashback to a documentary she watched last week.  “Oh God, what if it has rabies?  Wild animals have rabies, right?”

“It’s a he, and he doesn’t have rabies.”

“ _How do you know that?_   Tessa, take it away!”

“Are you sorry?”  Tessa’s enjoying this, and Darcy’s tempted to draw it out longer, just to keep that happy grin on her face.  But…

“Argh, now it’s trying to burrow through my leg!  _Tessa!_ ”

“ _Darcy_.”

Darcy gives in.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  You have a wide and varied vocabulary, which I admire!  It includes words like ‘effulgent’, which is awesome, even if I don’t see why you’d ever need it!”  It’s true.  Tessa reads just as much as Darcy does, and the two of them started a competition years ago to see who could find the whackiest words.  Darcy’s list is currently 115 words long.  Tessa’s is 116.

Tessa takes back the rat and sets him down on the grass, cooing affectionately.  “There there, run along now.  I promise not to involve you in any nefarious plots against the mean rat-hater in the future.”  The rat scuttles away, squeaking, and Tessa turns to Darcy, face solemn.

“Apology accepted.”  The girls maintain straight faces for a few more seconds, then collapse on the grass side by side, laughing.

After a couple of minutes, their breathing has slowed again and Tessa turns her head towards Darcy.

“So, this… Loki.  He explained some stuff, but you said there were other things you didn’t understand?”

“Yeah, he kept calling me ‘mortal’.  What’s up with that?  And there were words like the ‘Nine Realms’, and iggada- iddra- ig-something.  I don’t know.  I’ll have to ask him next time I see him.”

“I guess… Or we could look them up ourselves.  Library trip?”

“Hmmm… nah.”

“What?”  Tessa rolls onto her stomach and pushes herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Darcy.  “You _never_ say no to the library.  You’re all, ‘books, yay!’ and then I have to actually drag you out.  So why are you…”

Darcy turns her head away.

“Oh!”  Tessa gasps, then starts to giggle.  “You don’t want to find the answers on your own.  You want _him_ to explain it to you!”

Darcy can feel her face going red.

“You have a crush on him.”  It’s not a question.  “Ok, ok, ask him yourself then.  But I want all the details.”  Tessa lies back down on her back.

“Deal.”  Darcy finally returns Tessa’s gaze, then looks up at the sky.

“You really think you’ll see him again?” Tessa asks quietly.

Darcy smiles.  “I know so.”

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

“Darcy?”

“Hmm?”

“…What’s rabies?  Darcy?  Dar–argh!  Stop hitting me!”


	4. Answers

_He’s there, just as she knew he would be._

_He greets her with a smile she’s now certain is fond, and she crosses the courtyard to sit next to him by the Well.  For a while, they sit in silence, just looking at each other.  Eventually she breaks, and starts plying him with questions._

_Loki answers every single one, smirking at her curiosity.  He tells her about the Nine Realms.  He tells her about Yggdrasil, the World Tree.  She thinks Tessa will like that, everything being connected.  She’s not so sure.  It makes her shiver.  He tells her that he, along with everyone else in the Realm of Asgard, is part of a race called Aesir, and that they live for thousands of years._

_“Wait, so how old are you?”  To Darcy, he seems to be only a young man._

_“A little over two thousand.”_

_Darcy’s eyes widen and she can’t keep her jaw from dropping.  “But…”_

_He chuckles at her reaction.  “Your Midgardian equivalent would be… let’s see… sixteen?”_

_“You’re a two-thousand-year-old teenager who talks like Shakespeare.  Ok.  If I can accept alternate dimensions and giant mystical trees, I can accept that.”_

_“That’s the spirit.”_

_“Of course, I haven't accepted other worlds and all-powerful trees yet, so… jury’s still out on you, buddy.”_

_Loki’s smile broadens._

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

She was right.  Tessa does like Yggdrasil.  She watches her friend rescue a tiny spider from an orange juice spill and she thinks Yggdrasil would like Tessa too.

She tells her as much and is rewarded with a tackle-hug.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_“Tell me about your mother.”_

_“Why my mother?  Most people would want to hear about Odin, or Thor.”_

_She fixes him with the most withering look she can muster._

_“Of course.  You are not ‘most people’.”_

_“I told you, I never had a mother.  I’ve met Tessa’s, but… other than that, I don’t really know what a mother is supposed to be like.”_

_“Ah.  In that case, I don’t think I can help you.”_

_“Why?  She’s still alive, right?”  Darcy gasps.  “Oh no, do you not get along?  Is she a bad mother?  Have I kicked a hornets’ nest?”_

_Loki laughs.  “No, no, not at all,” he says, and she sees a glint in his eye and realises it’s pride, “quite the contrary.  I don’t think I can help you with the question of what a mother is supposed to be like because, as I have told you before, my mother is the most wonderful woman in all of the Nine Realms.”  Yep.  Definitely pride.  There’s a new, boyish edge to his voice now and for the first time she can see the teenager in him.  She wants to hear more._

_She gives him a baleful glare.  “Are you really bragging about how great your mother is right now to the nine-year-old –”_

_“Almost ten,” he corrects._

_“To the nine-year-old,” she continues more loudly, conveniently ignoring the birthday she has in three days, “who never knew her mother?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Darcy snorts.  He is always sympathetic, but never pitying.  It makes him easy to talk to, and she knows she doesn’t have to worry about him lying to her in some misguided attempt to preserve her feelings.  She wants to hear about his family, the good as well as the bad, and he knows it._

_“Let’s see,” Loki muses.  “My mother…”_

_What follows is a litany of all the times Frigga outsmarted everyone at court, calmly explained to Odin how unreasonable he was being, and bested even the most experienced warriors on the training fields.  Then Loki’s voice grows softer, and he treats her to tales of Frigga the mother, teaching Loki magic, intervening in his disputes with Thor, holding him when he fell out of a tree and hurt himself._

_By the time he’s finished, Darcy is crying.  She doesn’t notice until Loki reaches over and brushes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs._

_He doesn’t comment, just asks her to tell him about the latest book she’s read.  Darcy takes a deep breath, then launches into a detailed account of_ The Hobbit.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

“Tessa?”

“Mmm?”

“What if it’s not real?  What if _he’s_ not real?”

Tessa forces her chin up with her thumb and gives her a hard look.

“Does it feel real?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s real.”

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_Tonight she asks him to tell her about Thor and Odin.  He tells her of their exploits in battle, of their reputation through the Nine Realms.  He recounts tales of enemies crushed, worlds conquered, trophies claimed.  Never once does he say ‘I feel’, ‘I think’, ‘I believe’._

_They sit by the Well of Fate, just as they do every night, and it flickers as they talk, providing images of people she has never met, places she has never been.  She doesn’t know if the reflections are past, present or future, and she doesn’t think Loki does either.  When she speaks about herself, the water produces more familiar pictures.  She tries not to examine these too closely, fearing the overwhelming deluge of images that caused dizziness and the headaches the first time she looked in the water._

_The Well seems…agitated tonight, the pictures mostly dominated by two people she figures are Thor and Odin.  They flash by quickly in a whirlpool of shining swords, blue creatures, snow, and… was that a hammer?_

_“Mjolnir.”  Loki scoffs.  “How apt, that my brother’s choice of weapon should so accurately reflect his very nature.”_

_She’s not quite sure what he means by that, but she knows it’s not a compliment._

_Loki seems calm on the surface, but he is almost too still, his voice even to the point of monotony.  The Well churns faster and she thinks that the disturbed waters are a better representation of how Loki is feeling._

_She wants to ask him if he’s ok, but he speaks before she can, and all other thoughts fly out of her head._

_“It is your birthday tomorrow is it not?  Will you be celebrating?  I am not well-versed in Midgardian customs but I believe – Darcy?  Are you crying?”_

_She’s not crying.  Darcy hasn’t cried over her birthday, or her mother, or her father, in a very long time.  She’s come to accept things as they are.  She has, however, hung her head, Loki’s green gaze too much to bear at the moment._

_Raising her head, she forces herself to meet his eyes and attempts a reassuring smile.  But as she does, the Well glows gently, drawing their attention._

_Together they watch as a tiny, bloody baby is hurried away from an unconscious brunette woman.  The woman is rushed off in the opposite direction, and the baby is placed in a glass case with tubes, next to a man who doesn’t even glance at her once.  He stares blankly ahead, unmoving._

_Even when she was a newborn, he never looked at her._

_Darcy closes her eyes, breathing carefully against the tears that are threatening.  She doesn’t want to cry now, not after all this time that she has been strong.  It was cruel of the Well, she thinks, or the Norns, or whoever’s in charge of all this, to show her that.  There are some things she always knew, but still, she didn’t want to_ know _them._

_Loki is watching her, half understanding, half quizzical._

_“He wishes she’d won.”_

_“What?”_

_“My father.  He wishes she’d won.  Even if it meant I’d lost.  He’d have been happier that way, I think.”_

_Loki closes his eyes and mutters something.  It’s a language she doesn’t understand, but he sounds angry.  Then he calms himself and reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear._

_“Your father is a fool.”_


	5. Birthday

The next morning, the morning of her birthday, Darcy stays in bed as long as she can.  She listens to the banging, the smashing, the shouting, and she wonders, not for the first time, whether the neighbours choose to be oblivious or whether they really don’t hear anything.  Finally, when it has been quiet for an hour, she gives in to her growling stomach and creeps downstairs.

Her father is passed out on the couch, his bottle in the hand resting on his chest, dribbling brown liquid onto his neck.  She tiptoes through the destruction, wondering if anything has been left undamaged.  There’s even a long crack down the TV screen.  Looking beyond it, to the mantelpiece, she sees the photo in its usual place, unharmed.

She’s not surprised.

Managing to make herself toast with minimal noise, she snags a glass of water and flees back to the sanctuary of her room.  Her father never comes in here.  She’s learned to clean it herself.

Pulling _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ onto her lap, she opens it to the first page and starts to read it for the hundredth time.  It’s different now, though – she has found her Narnia.  Rather than feeling jealous of the Pevensies and their adventures, she feels like an accomplice, like she is in on some cosmic secret that only those who have found a fantasy land of their own could possibly hope to understand.

She hopes someday she can show Asgard to Tessa.

Despite her reading, the hours pass interminably slowly, and she realises she is waiting for nightfall, for an excuse to escape to Asgard in search of Loki.  For the first time ever, she no longer wishes her father would kiss her and buy her presents for her birthday.  She just wants Loki.  She resolves to go to sleep early, and hopes that Loki will have done the same.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_He has._

_Of course he has.  He probably knew she wanted this before she did._

_She stops across the courtyard and drinks in the sight of him smiling at her.  Then he says the words she has been longing to hear since she first learned their meaning._

_“Happy birthday, Darcy.”_

_With a cry, she rushes forwards and throws her arms around his neck.  She only manages this because he figures out what she wants before she reaches him and leans down to scoop her up.  He holds her there for a few long minutes, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, her face buried in his neck and her feet dangling in the air._

_Nobody but Tessa has ever hugged her before, and that and this are very different._

_It feels so, so good._

_Breaking their usual tradition of sitting by the well, he walks her over to a stone bench in front of the fountain with the three women (the Norns, she now knows) and sets her down.  Taking a seat next to her, he brings something out from behind his back and holds it out to her._

_“For you,” he says, and slips it onto her wrist._

_She stares at it in wonder.  It is a bracelet, the most beautiful she has ever seen.  At once chunky and delicate, an intricate green and gold snake winds itself four times around her wrist, its tail pointing down towards her hand, its head looking upwards towards her elbow.  It glitters in the sunlight and is set with hundreds of tiny gemstones that she’s probably never heard of and wouldn’t find on Earth.  It is warm to the touch, and just looking at it brings her overwhelming comfort and a sense of safety._

_“I made it.”_

_Her head snaps up.  If she was stunned before, now she is utterly speechless._

_“Do not be so surprised,” he admonishes her with a wry twist of his lips.  “My mother is a highly accomplished craftswoman, and I have always delighted in learning all she has to teach me.”  He takes her wrist and twists it, running his fingers along tiny symbols she hadn't noticed before.  “You see these runes?  I have spelled the bracelet so that it works as a protection charm.  Your skin will be impervious to harm so long as you are wearing it.”_

_Darcy squeezes his hand and finally finds her voice.  “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.  “Thank you.”  It doesn’t seem like enough, but one look at his face and she knows he understands._

_She asks him to explain the runes and the magic to her, and he does.  She doesn’t understand much of what he says, but his enthusiasm to tell her everything makes her smile, and before long she finds herself lost in the sound of his voice.  It’s soothing, and soon she wants to lie down on the soft grass and fall asleep to the sound of him talking._

_He frowns at her when she slips off the bench and settles herself on the grass in front of him.  He opens his mouth to say something but there’s a splash off to his left and he rises to investigate.  Feeling ever sleepier, she stretches out comfortably on the ground and watches Loki’s back as he strides over to the Well of Fate.  She thinks the Well might actually be bubbling, the surface of the water disturbed for the first time since she saw it, and she briefly considers going over to check it out, but that seems too much like hard work, so she closes her eyes instead.  Her breathing slows and she starts to slip into sleep._

_“Darcy!”_

_Loki’s voice jolts her unpleasantly out of her dozing state and she mumbles unhappily._

_“Darcy, come and look at this!”_

_She forces her eyes open and peers up at him.  His back is still facing her, and she can see tension there that wasn’t present before.  He calls to her again, and she tries, she really does try to get up and go to him, but her limbs aren’t cooperating.  Finally, Loki turns around, and his eyes grow wide with alarm when he sees her sprawled out on the ground.  Rushing to her, he kneels at her side and shakes her, almost roughly._

_“Darcy, wake up!  You have to wake up!”_

_Well, that makes no sense.  She’s tired, and sleepy, and she just wants to rest.  Why won’t he let her rest?  It’s cool and pleasant on the grass.  It reminds her of lazy afternoons watching clouds with Tessa in the park, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight and breathing in the fresh air.  Except… the air doesn’t seem all that fresh anymore.  And… is it her imagination, or is it getting a little dark?  The sunlight is gone.  And it’s getting a little difficult to breathe.  She’d panic, but she’s just so exhausted… she wants to sleep…_

_“No!  Darcy, think about it!  This is a dream.  You are dreaming.  Which means_ you are already asleep.  _Therefore you should not feel the need to sleep, not here!  Please, Darcy, something is happening to you, to your real body, and you must wake up!”_

_Loki actually sounds scared now, and that’s enough to frighten her.  But her eyelids have grown too heavy to keep open, and she thinks she might be coughing.  Her limbs are dead weight now, and her breath is coming in gasps.  Through a tiny crack in her eyelids, she sees Loki’s fingers coming towards her, green threads dancing through them.  As they press against her forehead, something powerful pulses through her.  Then it happens again, hard enough to make her whole body jerk, as she hears him shout._

_“WAKE UP!”_


	6. Fire

Darcy startles awake, and tries to draw in a breath in a gasp, but ends up choking instead.  Bile rises in her throat and she swallows it down as she splutters for air, but there’s none to be found.  Roaring and crackling fills her ears.  Her room is an anachronistic combination of dark, where clouds of smoke have formed, and unbearably bright where flames lick up her walls and along her floor and – oh God – across her bed, the duvet already blazing bright orange.

Then tears fill her eyes and obscure her vision so she doesn’t see the other person in her room until hands are around her waist, lifting her up.  She wants to scream, but that would require breath, and there’s no oxygen left anywhere.  She’s thrown over a shoulder and then… everything goes a little hazy, and when she comes back to herself, she’s lying on her back and someone’s putting something plastic over her nose and mouth, and people are moving around her, looking down at her, faces grim.  Her first instinct is to pull the thing away from her face, but then she realises it’s getting a little easier to breathe, so she decides not to move or do anything that might upset that.

Besides the clipped, efficient voices of the people milling around her, lifting her arms, covering her in a silver foil, she can hear soft murmurs, and the occasional sob.  Carefully, she turns her head to the side, and catches glimpses of a throng of people standing in their pyjamas, staring.  Staring at her, at her house, at the smoke rising from it, and at the figure lying on the floor, being slowly zipped up in a black bag as people in uniforms shook their heads.  She catches a glimpse of charred flesh, and, clutched in one hand, a photo frame.

The bile that she forced down earlier comes back with a vengeance.  Sitting up, she snatches the mask from her face, leans over the gurney and empties the meagre contents of her stomach onto the concrete.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Darcy is only vaguely aware of time passing.

She drifts in an out of consciousness, waking briefly in the ambulance, then alternating between the hospital and the garden in Asgard.  Loki is there every time, and though she cannot speak and she struggles to open her eyes, she can feel her head in his lap, and his hands in her hair.  It is infinitely preferable to the stark white walls of her room and the smell of disinfectant and the pitying whispers of the nurses, and she soon finds herself actively trying to stay asleep for as long as possible.

At some point she feels small fingers pressing against hers, soft lips on her forehead, and she knows Tessa’s parents have brought her round.  She tries to squeeze her friend’s hand reassuringly, but manages only a slight twitch, and Tessa doesn’t seem to notice.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Darcy looks at the woman whose home she is going to be living in for the foreseeable future, and tries to muster up a smile.  The woman – Helen, the social worker introduced her as – looks right through her.  It’s a familiar sensation, and Darcy doesn’t bother trying to be polite again.

She lies back down.

She doesn’t cry.

Helen is ushered back out of the room, and Darcy can see the doctor briefing her on care instructions outside the window.  Turning her back on the door, she closes her eyes, hoping to get in a proper conversation with Loki before she’s discharged.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_Loki looks so relieved to see her, standing up and apparently unharmed, that she wants to break down in his arms and cry._

_She doesn’t._

_Instead, she lets him guide her over to the bench in front of the fountain, and tells him everything.  She tells him about waking up to find her room on fire, about being unable to breathe, about being terrified of the flames consuming her bed._

_“I was in hospital for two weeks with smoke inhalation,” she says.  “What I don’t get, though – and I heard the nurses talking about this, too – is why I wasn’t burnt.  The doctors and the firefighters thought I should be covered in… third… third-degree burns?  But other than the breathing thing, I wasn’t hurt.”_

_Loki’s face is pinched as he gestures to the snake bracelet on her wrist.  “Your birthday present.  I told you I had enchanted it, remember?  I made you impervious to physical harm such as cuts, broken bones…”_

_“Burns.”_

_“Exactly.  But it seems I missed a trick, and internally, you were just as human and fragile as you ever were.  I was foolish, and you paid the price for my oversight.”  His face darkens.  “I shall have to review my enchantment.”_

_For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say.  He’s unhappy – because his spells didn’t protect her lungs from the smoke?_

_“Loki,” she begins, slowly, “are you seriously beating yourself up right now because the magical bracelet that you gave me_ only _protected me from serious burns that could have killed me, and definitely would have put me in the hospital for months?  And left loads of scars?”_

_He looks puzzled.  “Of course.  Had I been more attentive, you would not have had to suffer at all.”_

_“Loki, you’re being stupid.  You saved my life, not just with the bracelet, but by waking me up.”  He begins to protest and she claps a hand over his mouth.  “No.  I'm going to say ‘thank you’, and you’re going to say ‘you're welcome’, and then you’re gonna be pleased with yourself for saving my life, and I'm gonna be happy to still_ be _alive.  Got it?”_

_He nods, his lips and nose tickling against her palm, and she sees the twinkle of amusement in his eye and knows she’s won._

_“Ok.”  She removes her hand.  “Thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome,” he tells her solemnly, but she can’t help but feel she’s being made fun of._

_Darcy glances at the bracelet on her wrist as she lowers her hand, and a thought occurs to her.  “Why didn’t they take it?  In the hospital, I mean.  I woke up in a hospital gown, and nothing else, so why didn’t they take my bracelet off as well?”_

_“Ah,” he nods, knowingly, “I forgot to inform you of this.  The bracelet will only be visible to those whom you wish to see it.  I assumed that you would want to avoid awkward questions about how such a piece of jewellery came to be in your possession, and I did not want you to be discouraged from wearing it.  For your safety.”  A shadow passes over his face again._

_“Smart,” she says quickly, hoping her tone conveys all her gratitude._

_“It is the quality I am best known for,” he quips, then grows serious again.  “But we digress.  There is much more to your story, I can tell.  I sense I have not yet heard the worst of it.”_

_Darcy bows her head and skims her fingers over the snake’s head.  “My dad’s dead,” she says, with forced casualness, and feels Loki stiffen beside her.  “They think the fire was his fault.  He – he does this thing, every year on my birthday, where he gets really drunk – even more drunk than usual, that is, and destroys pretty much everything in sight.  I think it’s his way of grieving.  Anyway, this year was no different, except… I guess he got hungry or something, because it looks like he tried to use the stove while he was still drunk, and left the tea towel on top of it.”_

_Loki’s hand makes an aborted movement towards her face, and she thinks he’s trying to wipe away the tears that aren’t there._

_“Anyway,” she continues, “they’ve found me a nice foster family, or so they tell me.  I’ve met the mother.  She seemed… ordinary.  One problem, though.  They live too far away for me to stay at my current school, so I’m gonna need to transfer –”  She can’t finish her sentence._

_“Away from Tessa,” he concludes quietly for her._

_She nods mutely.  It’s the ultimate injustice, the final straw; she is to be separated from her best friend, her only friend, the person who has always been her rock, right when she needs her most.  As if he heard her thoughts, Loki wraps an arm around her and draws her head onto his shoulder._

_“I will still be here, Darcy.  Whenever you need me.  All you have to do is go to sleep.”_

_“What if I'm asleep but you’re still awake?” she asks, voice muffled against his shoulder._

_Loki pulls a pendant from under his tunic, and she draws in a breath.  Around his neck hangs a snake that looks like a tiny version of her bracelet.  “They are connected,” he tells her.  “I will know when you are awake and when you are asleep.  I can make the connection two-way, if it pleases you.”_

_She nods, excitedly, and he wraps one hand around his pendant, and the other around her bracelet and closes his eyes.  His lips part and words spill from his mouth in a language she doesn’t understand, so fast she can’t see his lips or tongue moving.  The jewellery sparks green for a moment, and then he releases it with a nod.  “It is done.”_

_A feeling of warmth floods through her, then a sort of sensation like she is being gently pulled towards Loki, and she looks up at him, wide-eyed.  “Is that –”_

_“Yes,” he confirms._

_“Wow.”  She gazes at him with something like wonder.  “So… you’ll be here when I sleep?”_

_“Every time.”  He pauses, and doubt flits across his face.  “Only if you want me to, of course.”_

_“Yes,” she says immediately, and is rewarded with a relieved chuckle.  “Absolutely.  Please,” she adds as an afterthought._

_“My little mortal is quite demanding,” he teases, shaking his head ruefully.  A flood of warmth rushes through her._ His _mortal.  He has willingly claimed her as his own, and he didn’t have to.  She feels taken care of for the first time in her life, and it feels good, if a little strange and new.  “The court is probably wondering what has happened to me.  I have barely ventured from my chambers these past two weeks, and have slept long and often.”_

Waiting for you, _he doesn’t say, but she hears it anyway._


	7. Funeral

The funeral is held three days later.

Darcy has been out of the hospital for two days, which have been spent buying clothes, since pretty much everything she owned went up in flames along with her father.

She doesn’t mind.  She didn’t have that much to begin with anyway.

She does miss her books, though.

There are very few people at the funeral.  Her father’s parents both died while Darcy was still young, and he had been an only child.  A few work colleagues show up to pay their respects, along with their neighbours and some people she thinks might have been Gerry’s friends back when her mother was still alive.  He managed to alienate pretty much everyone over the years.

Tessa’s managed to convince her mother to dig out a black dress and take her to the church, and she stands by Darcy the whole time, tears dripping down her face as she glances sideways at her.  She never lets go of her hand.  Darcy is dry-eyed.

A brief eulogy is said, her father is interred.  Mechanically, Darcy steps up to the graveside and stares down at the framed photo, now slightly singed, resting on top of the coffin.  It is the only memento to be buried with her father.  She drops dirt down into the hole and it falls on the face of the pretty brunette.  She tries not to think about the last time she saw that photo.  Still, her stomach lurches.  Not that there’s anything to throw up.

She doesn’t notice the scant audience filing away until Tessa calls her name and she turns to face her friend.  Tessa’s face is tear-streaked as she extends a hand towards Darcy like she does to her more skittish animals, enticing her away from the grave and into a hug.  As Darcy steps towards her, she realises with a start why this scene is so familiar.

She lets Tessa wrap her arms around her, but she feels too wrung out to do much more than drop her head to her shoulder.  A small voice screams at her to hug her friend hard: it might be the last time she sees her for a long while, but she’s too numb to move.  Helen is waiting off to the side, and starting to tap her foot impatiently.  Soon, Darcy will have to leave Tessa and get in Helen’s car and return to Helen’s house with Helen’s husband and two kids and the clothes Helen picked out for her.  The house is only a couple of counties away from Tessa’s, but it may as well be a different country for two ten-year-olds who have barely been apart a day since they met.  She wonders if Helen will drive her to see Tessa often, or let her use the phone.  It’s doubtful.  Her new foster mother doesn’t seem like the type to put herself out for people.

Darcy’s startled from her thoughts by Tessa drawing back to press something into her hands.

“It’s just a cheap burner phone, but I thought maybe you could do odd jobs for pocket money?  Put some credit on it and we can text?”  Tessa holds up an identical cell.  “Mom didn’t want me to have my own cell till I was at least thirteen, but under the circumstances… She caved.  Like I said, it’s not much, but…” Tessa’s lips contort in a bitter, sad smile, the kind Darcy knows she herself has made often, but she always hoped never to see on her friend’s face, and her heart twists painfully at the sight, “happy birthday.”

Darcy wants to thank her, for the burner, for the funeral, for still wanting to be friends, for the past five years, but her muscles are locked in place, and no sound comes out.  She thinks her face is expressionless.  Tessa understands, though, knowing instinctively what Darcy wants to say just like she always has, with that gentle way about her that brings stray cats and dogs and rats to her, has birds eating out of the palm of her hand, leaves Darcy eternally grateful and ever in awe.

Helen starts towards them, obviously tired of waiting.  Tessa brushes a soft kiss on Darcy’s cheek and turns and walks away, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

Darcy doesn’t cry.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_“I guess I know what the Well was trying to show me.”_

_Loki whirls around from where he was looking up at the statues of the Norns, standing in their fountain._

_“Darcy!”  He starts towards her, then stops abruptly a few feet away, hands held awkwardly out in front of him, like he wants to touch her.  He studies her face.  “Darcy?  The funeral was today, was it not?”_

_“The Well of Fate.”  She tries to move her facial muscles, make an expression, smile, scowl, cry,_ something _, but her face feels locked in place.  “The first time we met – properly met – the Well showed me some things.  I didn’t understand them at the time, but now I do.”  She meets his eyes.  “I think you were right.  I think the Norns just like watching us struggle.  It didn’t help one bit to show me that stuff.  It all happened anyway.”_

_She takes a step towards him and stumbles.  He’s there before she even sees him move, lifting her into his arms.  He brushes her hair away from her face and stares down at her, green eyes overflowing with concern._

_“Darcy, the funeral.  Have you said your goodbyes?”_

_She cries._

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

_Some time later – minutes, hours, days – she doesn’t know, doesn’t care – her wracking sobs have slowed to sniffles, and Loki is still holding her.  He’s leaning back against the fountain, cradling her in his lap and rocking back and forth.  He hasn’t said a word the entire time, just rubbed her back and held her close.  His tenderness made it harder to stop crying – every time he made a soothing gesture, she was overcome with a flood of emotions she couldn’t even begin to identify, and the tears started again._

_“That’s the first time I’ve cried since it happened,” Darcy croaks out eventually.  Loki rests his chin on her head and waits wordlessly.  “I wasn’t really sad before – at least, I don’t think I was.  They made me see a grief counsellor, and she said I was just struggling to process, or something, but that didn’t make sense, because I was upset about the house, and my bedroom, and all my books.”  She takes deep, steadying breaths.  “But I wasn’t sad about my dad – I mean, why miss someone who never even looked at me in the first place?”  She tries to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice breaks on the last word, and she has to swallow against a fresh wave of tears.  She doesn’t want to cry anymore.  She’s already wasted enough precious time with Loki on a grief that’s nothing short of foolish.  “He never once thought about me, not even at the end.  The fire was his fault, that’s what they said.  And when he realised what was happening, you know what he did?”  She laughs without mirth.  “He didn’t come looking for his daughter, oh no.  He never even made it to the stairs.  They found him dead in the living room, holding onto that stupid photo.  Even when the whole house was burning down, he cared more about his dead wife than his daughter.”  Her voice is rising and she’s aware that she’s ranting, so she forces herself to be silent for a few counts.  It’s the most she’s spoken in two weeks.  “It’s just silly for me to cry over him,” she concludes decisively.  “You can’t miss what you never had.”_

_“And that, I think, is the crux of your grief,” Loki tells her quietly.  She pulls back to stare at him.  “You are not mourning the father you had; you are mourning the father you wish you had had.”  He tightens his grip on her and drops a kiss on the top of her head.  “You believe he never loved you.  I cannot tell you whether you are correct, as I never knew your father.  However, I do know you.  I believe you never gave up hope that he would someday love you.  That hope is now extinguished, and it is this that causes you such pain.”_

_And the floodgates are open again.  He’s unlocked her feelings so perfectly when she herself was entirely unable to do so.  Now that her confusion is gone, nothing can hold back her grief anymore.  For the rest of the night, she burrows deeper into Loki’s lap as she releases ten years of longing for a home that she can no longer even hope for._


	8. Distance

Time passes.  Darcy lives with Helen and her family and attends a school nearby.  She doesn’t make any new friends.  Thanks to the rumour mill, her new classmates know even before she arrives about her house burning down and steer clear of her.  She becomes a ‘foster kid’, which is a strange feeling.  A mixture of pity, disdain and mistrust usually accompanies those words, and she finds that her peers don’t know what to make of her.  Before, at least, she was just quiet and no one really paid attention.  Now, they actively avoid her.

It doesn’t bother her all that much, though.  Tessa has always been her only friend, and she never needed or wanted any others.  So she pesters Helen until she allows her to help out around the house for money – she agrees mostly to keep Darcy out of her hair.  Saving up, she manages to call and text Tessa a few times a week, and hops rides with whoever is headed in the direction of her old town.  Tessa’s parents quickly get used to Darcy showing up unannounced on their doorstep, and are understanding.  Eventually, they start taking Tessa to visit Darcy – Darcy’s pretty sure they’re afraid she’s going to get in a car with a stranger and be kidnapped otherwise.

The separation is made all the more bearable by the presence of Loki in her dreams every night.  After her breakdown on the night of the funeral, he doesn’t bring up her father again, but listens quietly when, once in a while, a thought or a memory occurs to her, and she can’t help but blurt it out.  She tries to get him to open up more to her about his own father, and as he talks – about Odin’s praise for Thor, his disdain for Loki’s interest in magic, his frowns when Loki’s battlefield triumphs are aided by trickery – she wonders if she has the same lines of pain around her eyes.  Probably not.  Her distress over her father is only a decade old.  Loki’s has had centuries to fester.

He asks after her studies and her friends, and his eyebrows pinch together when she tells him how her classmates avoid her, and how much she misses being able to talk to Tessa every day.  His expression grows curious as she explains phones to him, and before she says goodbye, she thinks she sees the hint of a smirk around his lips.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” she tells Tessa during one of their precious phone calls.  “Maybe I imagined it.  He’d never laugh at something that upset me.”

“Or maybe he’s up to something,” comes back Tessa’s distorted voice.  “He _is_ the Trickster God, after all.  I bet he’s got something up his sleeve.”  She pauses.  “But you’re right.  From what you’ve told me, I don’t think he’d ever be happy about you being unhappy.”

Darcy muses on this.  “Hmm… You have a point.  But I prefer honesty.  I’m a terrible liar.  I don’t have anyone to practice on, other than you.”  It’s true.  With no one paying her any attention, she’s never needed to learn to lie.  “I’ll just ask him about it tonight.”

Tessa’s smile practically crackles down the line.  “You do that.  And tell me what’s up, ASAP.  I'm dying of curiosity, here.”

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

_Darcy arrives in the garden that night determined to confront Loki, but before she can say a word, he beams at her, and she’s disarmed._

_“Happy birthday!”_

_She blinks at him.  “I’m sorry?  It’s not my…” she trails off.  “Oh my God!  It’s my birthday and I didn’t even notice!  I'm eleven!”_

_Darcy eyes Loki with wary excitement.  He has his hands behind his back, and she can’t help wondering if he’s hiding a present.  She mentally slaps herself.  Just because he got her something last year doesn’t mean he’ll do it again.  He doesn’t have to.  She’s been spoilt by his hugs and his smiles and his snake bracelet that saved her from third-degree burns._

_But then he brings his hands out from behind his back and hands her a small object wrapped in a gold and green cloth.  “Open it.”_

_Glancing between him and the gift in her hands, she carefully unwraps the silk.  And blinks in confusion for the second time that night.  In her hands is a gold-and-green snake, beautiful and curling, obviously a companion to the one she wears on her wrist, and obviously jewellery of some kind.  Except… she has no idea what to do with it.  Her confusion must be plain on her face, because Loki laughs, taking the snake from her and holding it up against her ear._

_“It is a…” here he says a word she doesn’t understand and could never hope to pronounce.  “I believe on Midgard, you would say ‘ear cuff’.”_

_Darcy’s eyes widen in understanding.  She’s seen ear cuffs before, on young women in the neighbourhood, on some of the girls who go to the local high school.  Ear piercings are discussed amongst her peers in high-pitched tones of excitement, the latest girl to be allowed pierced ears by her parents proudly showing off her new sparkle.  Piercings anywhere but the ear lobe are spoken of in the almost hushed, reverent voices reserved for phenomena made enticing by the disapproval the elicit.  A problem occurs to her._

_“But… these need piercings that I don’t have.”_

_“With my magic, that is easily – and painlessly – remedied.”  He gestures towards her left ear.  “With you permission?”_

_She nods her assent and a look of concentration passes across his face.  A tingling runs through her ear and Loki removes his hand.  Lifting her fingers to the side of her head, she traces the line of the snake now thoroughly curled around her ear._

_Loki produces a mirror from nowhere, and holds it in front of her.  Pushing back her hair, she examines herself.  The cuff is gorgeous, and seeing herself with it in, usual green gown flowing over her body, bracelet on her right wrist, she feels… strong.  Powerful.  Like a Norse goddess._

_“Loki, I love it.  Thank you,” she breathes.  “It’s so beautiful…”_

_“Naturally,” he smirks, and she fights the urge to whack his arm.  “It is, however, no mere ornament.”_

_Darcy raises her eyebrows, intrigued, and his grin widens._

_“I was amused and fascinated by your description of Midgardian cellular telephones – and concerned that you should be able to speak with your Tessa as often as you please, without needing to work like a galley slave.”  He snorts at Darcy’s frown, and she knows he’s teasing her.  “This cuff, therefore, will allow you to communicate with your friend, much as you would through a telephone.  Which brings me to…”  He produces another silken package from thin air and presented it to her.  “This.  Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes, his fingers closing over hers as she moves to open it.  “This is not for you, my dear.  This is for Tessa; she must be the one to open it.”_

_Darcy can’t help it; she throws her arms around his neck.  She’s shown Tessa the bracelet, and even though her friend never needed any proof that Darcy’s dreams were real, it settled something in Darcy to have something concrete to show her.  Tessa has always been supportive of Darcy’s friendship with Loki, and encouraged her to confide in him, and Loki has likewise shown approval for Tessa whenever Darcy has told him stories about her.  The thought of the two people she loves the most being connected through such a thoughtful gift has her blinking back tears._

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Tessa is, of course, overjoyed at a magical gift from Darcy’s dream-walking Norse god friend, and after the requisite amount of cooing over Darcy’s new piercing, she opens her own, fingers trembling with anticipation.  Both girls gasp softly as the wrapping falls open.

Inside is a black and gold tiger, inlaid with tiny diamonds, its tail elongated and curving upwards.  An accompanying note lies underneath the cuff, written in clear but ornate script.  Tessa picks it up and reads aloud.

“ _Dear Tessa_

_Please forgive my presumptions in sending you a gift and a letter all at once, but I feel as if I know you, despite the miles and dimensions separating us.  Darcy speaks of you with love and admiration, and I find I am compelled to thank you for all that you do for her – and facilitate your continued friendship._

_You need only place your cuff to your ear, and it will affix itself – Darcy will assure you that the process is painless._

_Darcy has spoken to me of your affinity with all creatures, but most especially cats.  I wished to reflect your spirit in the design, and so chose a tiger, a fierce, magnificent, indomitable beast._

_I understand that at your age, piercings are disapproved of.  The cuff will therefore be visible only to those you wish to see it.  However, I hope that when you are older, you will do me the honour of wearing your tiger with pride._

_Yours,_

_Prince Loki of Asgard.”_

Without hesitation, Tessa lifts the tiger to her left ear to match Darcy’s, and a gentle green glow emanates from it.  Darcy blinks, and the tiger is firmly attached.

Tessa bounces off her bed where she was sitting with Darcy and preens in front of the mirror.  Finally, she turns back to Darcy with an impish grin.

“Yes,” she giggles, “I _definitely_ think you should keep being friends with Loki.  And keep telling him _aaallll_ about me, plea– hey!”

She’s forced to duck as Darcy throws a pillow at her.


	9. Gifts

The days stretch on, turning to weeks, months, years.  Helen grows tired of her after a couple of years, and she’s moved on to the next family – then the next, and the next.  It doesn’t bother her, bouncing around.  She’s used to being overlooked and ignored, and so long as she has Tessa and Loki, it just doesn’t seem to matter.  Fortunately, she manages to stay in roughly the same area, and only needs to transfer schools a couple of times.

Darcy keeps in touch easily with Tessa, learning to send her messages through their ear cuffs without even speaking aloud.  She loses count of the number of times she is forced to muffle a fit of giggles in the middle of a lesson.  Of course, she’s not always successful, but the _you’ve-gone-mad_ looks are no harder to stomach than the _that’s-the-foster-kid_ looks.

Her friendship with Loki snowballs, and he quickly takes up residence in her heart.  His presence in her life is irreplaceable, and immeasurably precious.  Emboldened by his success on her tenth and eleventh birthdays, he gifts her a new piece of jewellery every year, each one just as beautiful as the last, and all forming a matching set with the original bracelet.  They’re always snake-themed, which she teases him endlessly about, but secretly she loves the twists and curves and scales, beautiful and sensual, just like Loki himself.  Never one to do things by halves, Loki enchants every piece, and by the time she’s seventeen, she’s dripping in green-and-gold serpent jewellery protecting her, keeping her healthy, bringing her luck and happiness and boosting her energy.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

By the time she’s twelve, her hurt over her father is a fading scar.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Darcy’s barely thirteen when puberty attacks, and she suddenly finds herself somewhat less invisible than she used to.  After a particularly trying day of what seems like every boy in school trying to cop a feel, and being slut-shamed by every girl she passed, she puts on a brave face, but by the time she makes it to the garden in Asgard she bursts into tears just at the sight of Loki’s face.

Despite her initial reluctance to confide in Loki – her problem seems at once petty and embarrassing – he’s persistent, and she soon spills the whole sorry story.  To his credit, Loki looks only very briefly uncomfortable, before moving on to a very quiet, dangerous rage.

The next day, she discovers that every kid who bothered her even slightly has mysteriously come down with severe mono overnight.

In between sobbing fits, she confesses the confidence her jewellery gives her, how it makes her feel fierce and beautiful and divine, like him.  The next thing she knows, Loki is helping her design an entire new wardrobe, a sort of mish-mash between Asgardian clothing, both male and female, and modern Midgardian styles.  In just a few short hours, quick enough to make her dizzy, he’s conjured her a closet-full of dresses with uneven hems, leather-edged trousers, calf boots, geometric belts and necklines.  They’re mostly in various shades of green, which at some point after meeting Loki – probably quicker than she’d like to admit – became her favourite colour, but deep blues, striking reds and misty purples are also plentiful.  She’d be impressed with his design skills, but she’s long accepted that he’s good at everything.  She tells him this, and he turns away from her and has a violent coughing fit.  When he looks at her again, she swears his eyes are just a little brighter.

He also begins training her in what he calls “the warrior’s art”, but she calls “how to kick ass”, and soon she’s standing tall and proud at school and around town, in her tailor-made goddess clothes and her enchanted serpentine jewellery, armed with fresh confidence and some nasty self-defence tricks.  Loki isn't interested in teaching her to fight fair; she fights to win.  She still attracts stares, but now they’re for her fashion sense and poise rather than just her chest, and people go back to leaving her alone.  The one boy who doesn’t quite get the hint at first finds himself with his cheek pressed to the floor, arm twisted up painfully behind his back.  Rumours of the incident travel fast, and the other kids look at her with a new mixture of fear and respect.

Darcy grows concerned that Loki is always giving her presents, but she has never given him anything in return.  When she mentions it to him, he laughs it off, saying her company is a gift in itself, and she spends the rest of the night grinning like a fool.  Waking up, she realises he successfully distracted her from the issue, and is even more determined to find a way to repay him for all his gifts.  But what to get a prince of Asgard who can buy whatever he wants and create pretty much anything with magic?

When she hands him her beloved copy of the first Harry Potter book, he’s initially sceptical.  But by the next night, he’s devoured the entire thing, and there’s a boyish, almost coy expression in his eye when he asks if she has the next one, and could he please borrow it?  She wonders how long it’s been since he last asked anyone for anything, and feels a small thrill of triumph.  She digs out _The Chamber of Secrets_ and clutches it to her chest as she falls asleep.  As he takes it, he kisses her cheek, green eyes glinting with gratitude, as she hands it over.

By the time she’s fourteen, she can admit she’s got a crush.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Loki takes her to explore the rest of the city, and they slip through throngs of people in markets, wander along riversides and watch the warriors on the training fields.  According to him, the Asgardians they see on their walks are real people, conjured up from his memory to show her what real-Asgard (not dream-Asgard) looks like when it’s bustling with life in the daytime.  He shows her how to pilot one of the flying longboats, which is awesome at first, but then she freaks out and almost crashes into the palace.  Loki is laughing so hard he nearly doesn’t take over in time.  She tries to summon some indignation, whacking him on the arm, but she has to admit it was pretty funny.

As they soar over the rainbow bridge, Darcy leans a little too far out, enchanted by the swirling colours beneath them, and almost falls.  He catches her by the waist and holds her close, executing a series of turns and twists and dives that has her alternately screaming and laughing with exhilaration.  When he looks down at her, she can see her joy mirrored in his face.

By the time she’s fifteen, she can admit it’s going to be a lot more than a crush.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 

Loki’s multitalented – she knew this already, from his intelligence to his magic to his artistic side, she’s decided he could do anything he set his mind to.  When Darcy expresses her love for music, he sets about lending credence to her theory with a harp and a low, velvety voice.  As he finishes, she tells him in a slightly stunned voice that she can completely see how he earned the name Silvertongue.  At that, he looks startled, and then gives her a smile tinged with a sadness she doesn’t understand.

“He’s just so _smart_ ,” she tells Tessa through their ear cuffs, “and talented.  Really talented.  He should leave some for the rest of us, you know?  I mean, you have to hear that voice to believe it.”

“Mhm,” comes the amused reply.

“And he’s teaching me all about Asgardian politics and it’s _fascinating_ , he’s such a good teacher,” she continues.  “But it’s also kind of stupid.  Odin doesn’t sound like a bad king – though I think he’s a bad father – but Thor’s going to be king someday, and he’s _soooo_ not the right guy for the job.  Odin should totally skip that oaf and put Loki in charge instead, ‘cause he actually knows what he’s doing, but nooo, that’ll never happen, just because Thor’s older, and swings a big hammer.”

“….Darcy.”

“Yes.”

“You lost me about two sentences in.  But you know what I _am_ getting?”  A wave of mischief thrums through Darcy’s cuff from Tessa’s, then her friend takes a deep breath and adopts a sing-song voice.  “Darcy and Loki, sitting in a–”

“I’m hanging up.”

Darcy breaks the connection, but not before getting an earful of Tessa’s knowing cackle.

By the time Darcy’s sixteen, Loki has given her a bracelet, an ear cuff, a necklace, earrings, an arm cuff, and even a hair comb, which he spent hours showing her how to use in dozens of different hair styles, and she feels she’s missing a pretty basic piece.

Sure enough, when she unwraps the usual green silk on her sixteenth birthday, a delicate snake ring greets her.  Her breath catches, and when she looks him in the eye to thank him, words fail her.  He’s similarly silent, but as he slides the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, it speaks louder than any promise.


End file.
